How do you begin to explain to a child, your child, that you will be leaving them? A goodbye, to them, is only ever temporary. They have not experienced life yet. The loss, the grief, the ends of relationships, moving away.

Will she think I will return? Like a Monday morning, she will say goodbye only to return six hours later and have me hug her tightly as I tell her how much I have missed her. She never misses me, or never says so anyway. She will tell me stories of her day, friends she has made, games she has played. And I will listen. Always, happy to hear her talk and see her face light up at each new experience. Who will listen to her if I am not there? Will they show her the same attentiveness I have? I hope so.

I could decide to not tell her at all. I could simply tuck her into bed later tonight, read her to sleep, kiss her one last time, and leave without another word. Perhaps she would understand. Perhaps not.

I make the decision later that night. She cannot know. It would be too painful for us both.

I have arranged for my mother to be there in the morning. I have everything I need. My daughter has everything she will ever need. She will not need me.

At bedtime, I tell her how much I love her as I tuck her into bed. I sit with her and read until she falls asleep, and for sometime after, willing the time to drag on, to have one last moment and then another. But now she is asleep, breathing softly as she holds onto me. Maybe she knows, deep down, she will never see me again.

I put the book to one side, tucking into it a letter I have written for her to read when she is old enough, though I doubt she will wait that long, the stubborn child she is. The thought makes me smile; she is mine, through and through. I lean over to stroke her cheek, her beautiful face. I kiss her forehead and walk silently to the door. Turning to take one last look at the person I love the most in this world, I wish for her to have everything she could ever want in life. I wish for her to have so much more that I ever did.

Then I leave her, forever.